


On the House

by MONANIK



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dirty Thoughts, Flirting, Flirty Kageyama Tobio, Flustered Miya Osamu, Japanese National Team, Kageyama is a piece of shit, M/M, Oblivious Kageyama Tobio, Osamu lives for it, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio, Slice of Life, onigiri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MONANIK/pseuds/MONANIK
Summary: Tobio is a better flirt than they expected. Least of all poor Osamu.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Miya Osamu
Comments: 21
Kudos: 164





	On the House

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by my good friend @martylagfer on Twitter. Follow her for more hot takes.

-

_"Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious."_

-

It had dawned on him that Miya Osamu, just like his less civilized twin, was easy prey.

At first it had been about free onigiri. A joke, a passing comment from Hoshiumi about how easy it would be for Tobio to flutter his lashes and get anything he wished for, including free food from the town’s best onigiri place, but over time it had grown into a fascination. Tobio wasn’t exactly known for backing out of challenges, and he could smell a challenge when presented with one. Perhaps Hoshiumi’s intend had been to exploit Tobio’s popularity, because for whatever unfathomable reason he’d garnered quite the attention for all the wrong reasons, and despite Hosiumi being successful himself it wasn’t about volleyball. It had taken Tobio some time to realize that.

Now that he had, standing in front of the familiar onigiri stand, t he t emptation to test Hoshiumi’s silent theory sizzled and sparked  in his palms. He wanted to grab onto it, whatever that feeling was that made him float an inch above ground, and pull it into him, into a place where he could control it, hone it, and use it. 

The decision to gathered at the cute little  shop had been mutual. They’d decided to infiltrate the growing business right before official opening time and stuff themselves to an early grave before the game on Friday. 

Osamu stood behind the counter, working on the next batch of the delicacy when he spotted the bright red jerseys of the national team squeezing through the door and excitedly hollering as they approached. Atsumu grinned at his brother, dangling two shiny keys on a taped-up finger.

“Shouldn’t’a given me the key, Samu.”

“Yer an eyesore, Tsumu. Infecting my place this early with yer fellow madmen,” Osamu muttered, but the sentiment was lost in the shy smile he hid behind the shade of his cap as the rest of the team approached the sleek, black counter.

Atsumu leaned on his elbows to peer over the  top at what Osamu was doing, and in turn had to duck the oncoming swing it earned him.

“Maaaaan, I love this place! Always so nice and clean and stuff!” Bokuto swung around in the bar-chair, gazing at the décor as if seeing it for the first time; his expression full of childlike glee. He turned back to Osamu beaming, “And the food’s great, too!” he added.

Osamu grinned, and flexed, and if Tobio’s breath left his lungs no one had noticed.

“Only the best from the best!” he said and pushed a plate of fresh onigiri towards Bokuto and Atsumu, who immediately stuffed their mouths to breaking point. It was all rather unsightly, but Tobio had grown accustomed to their strangeness.

Well, not like he had room to speak on strangeness. His reputation rarely centered around words like _‘normal’,_ or _‘proper’_.

His neck prickled with the heat of someone’s stare, and from across from him caught Osamu’s eyes as they dropped to the low V-neck of Tobio’s shirt, and then further down his body. He felt the heat in his neck spread down his chest and up his ears, but right then, from the other side of the obnoxious pair stuffing their faces, he met the pointed stare of the team’s resident shorties as they each gave him their own version of what Tobio could only call an infuriating quirk of the brow and a rather obvious _‘Well?’._

 _See,_ the topic of whatever Osamu was as bothered by Tobio’s presence as he was by his had been an ongoing debate among the three of them. Hinata and Hoshiumi had both ganged up on Tobio immediately, never missing out on an opportunity to fluster or embarrass their setter, and the aftermath of that had now resulted in Tobio finding himself in increasingly more bothersome situations regarding one half of the notorious Miya pair. Everything from getting shoved into the poor guy _‘on accident’,_ to the two morons texting him from Tobio’s phone while he was preoccupied elsewhere. _Mortifying_ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Osamu was tall and handsome, popular on the block and a great cook to boot. He seemed miles out of his league, if you asked Tobio, but according to a perfectly timed comment by none other than Atsumu, Osamu was _‘Pathetically weak to yer every whim and desire, Tobio-kun’._ He still hadn’t decided on where that placed him in the Miya hierarchy, or whether he even wanted to know, and after catching himself glaring daggers at Atsumu’s dick in the locker-room one too many times he’d caved and asked Ushijima what he thought, because, really, who else did he have? Hinata and Hoshiumi had made their theory blatantly clear, and confiding into Atsumu about his twins dick (and consequently the rest of him, from a sexual standpoint) hadn’t seemed like the brightest idea even to someone as socially inept as Tobio—begrudgingly—admitted he was. To his surprise, however, Ushijima had seemed just as confident in this imaginary infatuation Osamu allegedly held for Tobio. _‘I believe I’ve caught him looking at you more than a few times, and something about that had not seemed all so innocent.’._

Tobio hadn’t believed them—any of them—but as he watched Osamu avert his gaze, and drop it to the food on the plate before him where he believed he could hide the spreading flames as well, erupting across his skin, he finally realized what everyone else had been talking about to be true. Osamu liked him. Well, at least he did so aesthetically.

It had taken Tobio some time to come to terms with, and accept that, a lot of people had a strange desire to be with him. He’d never viewed himself as popular in any way, and the revelation that he not only, apparently, was, but also _had been_ all throughout high school had come as a shock to him. He wasn’t insecure by any means, and he could admit that he wasn’t all that bad looking, but to garner such attention had been… bizarre, to say the least. Suddenly his timeline was flooded with sneaky images taken of him as he wiped sweat off his brow with the hem of his jersey, or drank hastily from his water bottle between games. Modeling gigs and photography of too much of his skin spread like wildfire across the internet, and in no time at all he’d become an obsession for millions of people. It had all been daunting, at first, and absolutely baffling, but as he sat there across a shockingly flustered Miya Osamu—knowing that _he’d_ been the cause for it—his new identity as some sort of sex symbol suddenly didn’t bother him anymore.

“Osamu-san.”

He hadn’t yelled—hadn’t even raised his voice—and yet all eyes turned to him. It made him squirm in hesitation for a moment, not having expected an audience to what he’d do next, but he brushed it off. He was on a mission.

“Y-yeah?”

He stood on the feet-support of the bar-stool, which gave him leverage and height to reach across the counter, and from the unfinished batch before Osamu plucked one of the unwrapped riceballs. Sensually, and deliberately—not breaking contact as he leveled Osamu with a hooded stare and slowly, so slowly, brought the food to his lips, he arched his back gently, going with the flow of his position, and moaned softly around the bite. He licked his fingers clean as he spoke,

“I like them unwrapped, and that one seemed a little messy.”

Immediately, the place erupted into cheers and hollers. Atsumu, who’d been sitting next to him, pulled him into his side, and ruffled his hair aggressively. “Damn, ya! Ye nasty lil fucker!” he said, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

In the midst of the chaos, Tobio’s eyes locked onto Osamu’s from behind the counter. He was staring, standing still as the dead, still mid-movement with a riceball in hand, gaping. His cheeks and ears a delicious shade of rose.

“K-kageyama-kun…” he started, still in total shock.

Tobio wrestled himself free from Atsumu’s vice-like grip and leaned on the counter, chin in hand and the other palm behind him on the seat, exposing the line of his neck in the process. _This is easy,_ he thought, as he watched Osamu’s eyes drop to the straining tendons in his neck. To the single point where his pulse was currently thrumming to the beat of his erratic heart.

“Please, Osamu-san, call me Tobio,” he said, and smiled, and got a big, toothy, awkward smile in return. Osamu looked down, gaze darting around the table—unable to stop at where they truly wanted to be. He was tense, and red as a tomato, and yet the gleam in his eyes was that of unfiltered joy.

“Alright, Tobio-kun..” he said, voice an unstable rasp, and it sent a shock of heat up Tobio’s spine.

The others taunted and mocked him as Osamu’s redness grew at an alarming rate until even his arms were a gentle tiny of ruby.

“Damn you, you smooth asshole!” Hinata growled from across the room, fist swinging in circles before his face, “You goddamn _ikemen!_ Share some of it with the rest of us!”

Tobio paid him no mind as he looked back up at Osamu, who’d walked closer to him.

On a clean plate he’d placed three fresh onigiri, and held them across the counter towards Tobio.

“On the house,” he said.

Tobio gingerly took the plate from Osamu, allowing his fingers to linger a little too-long over the other’s knuckles. Osamu visibly shivered.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he said, pointedly not taking his eyes off Osamu’s lips.

The other erupted just as expected. It was a welcoming contrast to the otherwise so charming chef. He squirmed, Tobio bit his lip.

“Thanks,” Osamu said, hesitating, then added, “If ya want more, let me know,” then seemingly having come back to himself straightened and said, “Anything for that gorgeous smile.”

Now it was Tobio’s turn to go hot under the collar as his teammates’ shouting grew louder. Next to him, Atsumu stuck out his tongue and mocked throwing up.

“Filthy,” he said and stood, putting on his jacket, “C’mon guys, lets go. We’ll be late to practice.”

The group all groaned in unison but stood to gather their things nonetheless. They all said their goodbyes and thanked Osamu for the food, before turning to slowly push and shove their way out of the shop.

Tobio lingered for a moment. He gingerly fished his wallet out of his pocket, suddenly aware of the fact that none of the bastards had paid for their shit.

“Sorry about them,” he said and extended a wad of cash towards the twin. Osamu smirked and pushed his hand away.

“On the house, remember?” he said, winking.

Tobio saw his opening.

With one foot on the bar-stool yet again he leaned over the counter, grabbed a fistful of Osamu’s shirt, and his cap with the other, and hid their faces from the onlookers outside as he captured sweet lips with his own. Osamu tasted a little salty and minty, and when he bit into the plump flesh of his lower lip the whimper he received was almost enough to make him climb over the counter and pull ravage him, but he reeled himself in.

When he pulled away he did so slowly, and stopped mere inches from his lips—eyes flickering over his face as they breathed into each others’ space. Well, Tobio was. Osamu struggled, it seemed, to catch a breath.

Tobio placed the cap back on his head and let go of his collar in favor of picking up the discarded cash, and with the leverage of his free arm leaned further across, muscles straining under his weight, to slide the money into Osamu’s back pocket. When he pulled away he did so slowly, gaze still locked on Osamu’s shocked expression, and grinned when the man took a stuttering breath.

“That one,” he said, dropping his eyes to Osamu’s lips as he stepped down on the floor again, “Was on me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this dumb little thing. Maybe I'll make a fucky sequel if people are interested ;=)
> 
> Follow me on Twitter @MONANIK2 where I also post mediocre art ;))
> 
> xoxo


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